Sunday
I go to church 20 times on a Sunday.
Awake with the songs of 50 neighbors, the soft light through my windows beckons me to fresh air where I marvel at the squirrel chatter and say a prayer of thanks for the goat herder who discovered my coffee.
We sit on the deck, the dog and I. He, chewing sticks while I relish “good morning” texts from those whom I call beloved. My four-legged old man, the only ball and chain I can sustain, stiffly rises from his spot and sniffs around the yard- making his rounds like a security guard.
Breezes flutter potato vines and caress my skin and the windchimes alike. Dance and song with the choir of birds singing different songs in perfect harmony.
Empty cup, rising sun and humidity signal it’s now time to go meet God at his house. He’s been at mine all morning.
5 thoughts on "Sunday"
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Love this view of your Sunday.
“Breezes flutter potato vines and caress my skin and the windchimes alike. Dance and song with the choir of birds singing different songs in perfect harmony…”
Love this! It’s written in such a fashion that readers can tell the subject is being wooed.
It makes me smile. Thank you.
Your morning rituals provide a beautiful church service! I like that you were pondering the goat herder who discovered your coffee. Literally pastoral. This morning, as I was making coffee, I was thinking about the coffee farmers and how many coffee trees it would take to supply me with coffee for a year. 🙂 Enjoy the rest of your day.
magnificent and of course, that ending. perfection.
He’s been at mine all morning ❤️ what a beautiful eye you have.
My four-legged old man, the only ball and chain I can sustain, stiffly rises from his spot and sniffs around the yard- making his rounds like a security guard.
HA!